Rebirth at 23 Years Sober

My last drink and drug was September 13, 1995. I checked myself into Metropolitan Hospital detox and began my recovery. The next day was the first of thousands without getting loaded. Although I remember the white knuckled hopelessness and insanity of being a newcomer, I am now a long, long way from my last drunk. Being an "old timer" is no longer about staying away from the first drink or drug. It's about emotional sobriety, balance, and handling the changing seasons of life with grace and dignity. When life is going well--money in the bank, sweetie on our arm, great job, lookin' good--it's easy to navigate life as a sober person, provided we keep our ego in check. But what about when everything goes to hell? My life sober has been pretty amazing but it's unrealistic to expect eternal smooth sailing.

Getting sober was basically being reborn, so it's natural to measure each year using my annual anniversary (or "birthday"). Years 18-22 had been fairly uneventful but also rather flat in personal and professional growth. Year 23 started with a bang: breakups both professionally and personally. Suddenly, I was on my own which was scary on the professional side but a huge relief all around. This was soon followed by deaths of 2 people I loved dearly, 2 car accidents, loss of my side hustle of many years, and then one my dogs died. 

I took a week and a half to lay on a beach on the Maya Riviera and relax. The warm tropical breezes rustling palm fronds on white sand beaches and gentle surf brought me back to life. I slowed down to human pace again, and arrived home in a state of bliss. Just as I started to get my bearings and decide what to do next, my other dog died and then I broke my leg. Is this a country music song yet? 

 "We will intuitively know how to handle situations that used to baffle us" is one of the 9th Step promises from the AA Big Book. I had successfully (but not always gracefully) navigated rough waters without taking a drink or a drug and knew I could handle these events. It was clear to me that for whatever reason, this was a season of exits and housecleaning. I could either feel sorry for myself or accept what had happened and get into the solution. 

So there I was in bed with a full leg cast all the way to my crotch and nothing to do but think. I was told I wouldn't walk for 4 months after a having a steel rod and 7 screws installed in my leg. I'm bionic! After I went out on my own, I had suddenly been blessed with new business and had fortunately put a little money away. As I live in the middle of civilization, I can have anything delivered. I decided to move into my living room for the duration of my convalescence. After 5 years of living in this apartment, I finally learned the daytime noises on my street, watching the comings and goings, watching the deliveries and people leaving for work and returning hours later. Think Rear Window: Hollywood--but my windows face the street. 

I was forced to re-evaluate areas of my life that no longer served me and spent time in deep meditation. Being in physical pain for months made me focus on one thought at a time--this was a miracle in disguise. Here's what I learned while I was recovering: First, I'm not good at asking for help. I was initially bitter that no one was showing up at my house to keep me company but in typical "oldest child from an alcoholic family" fashion, I told most people I was OK and not to worry. The second thing I learned was that I had been giving a lot of energy to dead-end professional pursuits. I had no idea what to do about this one, more on the solution in a minute. I realized I had not been practicing what I preached and the wagon wheel that was my life had become severely unbalanced. Too much work, not enough recreation, zero time for creative pursuits. I hadn't written anything in a year. There were other, more personal moments of clarity and won't bore you with all of them. 

I made a miraculous recovery and was back in 2 shoes a month earlier than expected, recovering faster than people half my age. I gained new respect for mobility and am taking much better care of my body. As I am apparently moving in the right direction, there has been no struggle. I have everything I need. As a true addict, I know my wants are insatiable. A long time ago I was given some great advice about being stuck: when you don't know which way to go, take a step in any direction. I named my surgical scar Angus. 

I am writing again. Julia Cameron (The Artist's Way) described a couple of my spiritual growth symptoms: changing your musical bent and becoming uncomfortable with your own candor. I'm also about to do something professionally that scares the hell out of me. Renewed self care runs the gamut from classical music at the Hollywood Bowl to body boarding and long hikes to de-cluttering my apartment. I wasn't entirely without good habits, I did manage to stay sober and relatively sane all this time. With the exception of a hiatus at 10 years sober, I've mostly worked a good program and the last few years have spent a great deal of time working with others. This saved me during my healing as many individuals in recovery continued to reach out to me by telephone. This comes with the territory when you're an old timer. 

With the housecleaning of year 23, I think 24 is going to be amazing. I'm looking forward to turning 50(!) this year and whatever is coming next.